Visitors did not often come at such a time, and there were so few among our neighbors friendly to the Cause, who yet remained in Boston town, that it did not seem probable any of them would be abroad so late while the Tories were given over to rejoicing because of what had been done at Lexington.
I could hear my mother as she went to the barred door and asked as to who might be there, after which came the answer, so distinct that I could catch every word:
"I would see Luke Wright, having a message from his father."
"And who may you be?" mother asked.
"Hiram Griffin," came the reply.
"It is the son of the old woman who fed us when we were hungry," I cried joyfully to Archie as I ran down the stairs, taking three or four steps at a bound, for I knew this Hiram Griffin had been loitering in Cambridge until he might be of service to the Cause, and his coming could not betoken ill for me or mine.
As soon as might be I unbarred the door, while my mother was striving with trembling fingers to get a flame to the candle, and then there entered a young fellow who could hardly have been one and twenty, stout of frame, with a face betokening rarest good nature, but yet at the same time giving one to believe that he might be dull and heavy in his movements.
"Where did you come from?" I asked, forgetting that it was my duty, in the absence of my father, to welcome this visitor.
"I am from Cambridge where our people are gathering as flies gather around molasses, so that in time we may have men enough to meet all the forces General Gage can send against us."
"How did you get here?"